


Crime and Punishment

by rudennotgingr



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Gracepoint (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudennotgingr/pseuds/rudennotgingr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose's punishment for lying to (and arguing with) Emmett is a bit outside the norm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> This was a plot bunny that bit me and wouldn't let go. So I of course had to write it. Beta'd by chocolatequeennk. Also, not sorry at all about the last line(ish).

"You're not my daughter," Emmett growled, slamming the door to his office shut and making the glass walls vibrate.

The blonde occupying his chair didn't even flinch. She shrugged her shoulders, amber eyes sparkling with amusement. Amusement that pissed him off even more. Rose Tyler did not need to be here. Not now. He had too much work to do to find Danny's killer. Everywhere he turned obstacles were being tossed in his path. Did this town want him to do his fucking job or not?

"The woman didn't believe me either. Surprised she passed that message along, actually." Rose paused and tilted her head, her expression shifting to something more guarded and closed off. "Do you even have a daughter?"

He ignored her question, striding around his office and pulling all the blinds closed. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He forced himself to slow down, taking his time and calculating the possible scenarios of what would happen next in vivid detail. An arguement was bound to come first. His irritation at being interrupted _and_ lied to hadn't simply vanished into thin air. Each blind made a satisfying snap that pierced the tense silence. He wasn't here to answer her personal inquiries. Neither she nor _Torchwood_ needed to know about his private business. He didn't believe that Torchwood was a legitimate organization. Sounded like a made up British company composed of lunatics that were convinced aliens were behind...probably everything. In this case, the murder of a young boy. What a load of shit.

He snapped the last set of blinds shut, then turned on his heel. He stalked over to stand behind his desk, flicking his jacket back to place his hands on his hips. He glared down at her.

"You're in my chair."

She twisted the chair towards him and met his gaze head on. "I need to ask you a few more questions about--"

"You're as bad as the reporters," he spat in disgust.

"Excuse me?" she asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Emmett pressed his tongue into his cheek, rolling it from the back of his mouth to the front. "I don't know who you paid off to worm your way into this investigation, but the last thing I need is an amateur following me around pestering me with more questions."

"Amateur?" She jumped up, standing toe to toe with him. Her eyes flashed and she pushed her chin out in defiance. "I know how to do my job."

"You're also convinced Danny's death has something to do with little green men," he quipped. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, her own anger sparking something within him and his temper flaring dangerously high. "Which, in my professional opinion, is bull shit."

"If you would have listened at the briefing, you'd know we aren't searching for anything little _or_ green. Or is your hearing as poor as your manners, old man?"

He changed tactic, forcing his anger to hide behind a smooth smile and taunting eyes. "I didn't hear you complaining last week." Her eyes blew wide and she clenched her jaw. He chuckled, knowing his words and unaffected appearance had done more to infuriate her than another off handed insult would have done. "In fact, you seemed to rather--"

Rose's hand shot out, snatching his tie and a fistful of his shirt. She yanked him forward and their lips clashed awkwardly together. There was no finesse, no synchronicity. This wasn't about that. This was fire and fury and a battle for control.

A battle he was going to win.

She arched into him, her free hand snaking up to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly. He retaliated with a growl, nipping at her bottom lip. His hands settled on her waist, sliding down to grip her butt. He squeezed and pulled her closer, grinding her pelvis against the erection that had started forming as soon as he had caught sight of her in his chair.

As hands wandered and tongues tangled, he could feel her control slipping away. Her attacks were becoming less frequent, less calculated. He was winning. Her body pulsed with need, energy vibrating beneath his fingertips. But he wasn't done yet. Not until he had chased away his own burning arousal, mixing dangerously with the anger always simmering just below the surface and yearning to break free.

He wondered if he would leave marks this time.

Emmett was done playing games. It was time to remind her who was in charge. Reaching up, he untangled her hands from his hair. Sliding his hands to her shoulders he wrenched his mouth from hers and spun her around so she faced his desk.

"Bend over," he commanded, his voice thick and gravelly. He sensed her brief hesitation. He reached around, shoving papers and pens to the floor. " _Now_ ," he growled.

This time, she immediately complied, stretching her torso over his desk like a cat. He scratched his fingers down her back, knowing if it wasn't for her cotton tshirt he'd be leaving red trails against her creamy skin. He slipped his hands around her waist, yanking her pants open then pulling them down over her ass, panties and all.

He licked his lips, slipping a finger inside her. Then another. She sighed and clenched around him. She was already unbelievably wet and part of him thought that maybe this was what she had come here for all along. He thrust is his fingers in and out of her, using his other hand to push her head against the desk. If a good fuck was what she wanted, she was going to have to beg for it.

It didn't take long. She was panting and squirming, trying to get him to hit just the right spot. He leaned forward, curling his fingers on their way out of her heat before pushing them back in. Her groan quickly cut off into a gasp.

"Tell me what you want," he ordered in a whisper, repeating the motion. Her moan was like sex to his ears, his hips bucking forward to rub his still trapped length against her butt. The fabric of his pants was too tight, but he wasn't about to admit it. He stilled his hand inside her, placing his other hand on her hip to prevent her from moving. "Tell me," he growled.

"Fuck me," Rose gasped, a faint plea in her breathy voice.

"And what does a good girl say?" he taunted, twisting his fingers inside her to brush over the place that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Please," she whimpered.

He slid his fingers out, her inner walls clenching desperately around his retreating digits. Undoing his own pants with his dry hand he contemplated licking her juices off his fingers. His belt jingled as his clothing dropped and pooled around his ankles, and a better idea popped in his head.

Lining himself up, brushing his tip through her folds just to tease her, he grabbed a fistful of her soft hair. He forced her head up, his dick twitching at the rush of control he had over her. Looming over her, he brought his slick fingers to her lips.

"Taste yourself."

Her tongue poked out, licking a trail up his fingers before taking both of them entirely in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut and her tongue swirled around his digits. He thrust into her, hard, afraid that if he didn't he would come right there like a fucking teenager--all because her fucking tongue and mouth were furiously creating fantasies of what he wanted her to do next time.

Her body was trembling as he began pumping his hips. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth, a wet pop filling his office. He kept his one hand tangled in her hair, forcing a slight arch to her back, and his other hand anchored to her hip, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Judging by her muffled moans and the way her hands tightly gripped the edge of his desk, her knuckles nearly white, she was more than enjoying herself.

He slammed into her harder, faster, harder, faster. He barely remembered to keep quiet, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin doing more to get him off than to make him wary of someone else in the station hearing the questionable sounds. If they wanted to walk in, let them. He wasn't about to stop now.

He channeled all his anger, all his aggression into the rapid thrusting of his hips. It felt so fucking good. _She_ felt so fucking good. She was wet and tight and _fuck_ if he could do this once a week it would be better than seeing a therapist to deal with his so called temper.

She was close. He could tell by the frantic movement of her hips against his and the change in pitch of her labored breathing. He wasn't going to last much longer himself, not with the sensory overload of feeling her around him as well as seeing her bent over his desk.

He may be a downright asshole. And he may think she was crazy for even believing aliens existed. But he wasn't a selfish lover. Or...whatever they were. He wasn't sure fucking twice in the span of two weeks qualified him for that category.

He leaned over so his arm could circle around her hips, allowing his hand access to her clit. Pulling her hair and pressing hard on the bundle of nerves, he panted out one last command, "Come."

It was instantaneous; she came around him with the next thrust of his hips. Her walls fluttered then clamped around him, pulling his own orgasm out right behind her. He bit his lip, stifling his groan as white light exploded behind his eyes. He ground against her, spilling his seed inside her and drawing out their sex induced high.

He collapsed on top of her, panting. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His legs were wobbly and he didn't have the energy to pull out of her just yet. She was just as limp beneath him. Relaxing his his fist, he stroked her hair absently and smiled as she sighed in contentment.

"Someone's an eager beaver," he teased. A warmth bubbling in his chest as she laughed, a real honest laugh, under him.


End file.
